Between Us
by julyblues
Summary: Brittany Pierce, a shy, reserved coffee barista, finding life hard and work scarce, stumbled across an advert in a newspaper one day, and somehow ended up being personal nurse to a woman who seemed to hate her. Brittany decided to look past the insults and was determined to show Santana that there is more to life than the four walls of her bedroom. This is their story.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Glee, Starbucks, Jevity or any other copyrighted products mentioned in this story.

* * *

BETWEEN US

CHAPTER ONE

As a child, you were the hyper one. Always bouncing off walls, regardless of how much sugar you had consumed. You were branded as the Talker, constantly having lots to say to everyone about everything. It annoyed some people, to say the least, but you didn't care. You were a happy kid.

And then you hit puberty.

Almost overnight, your whole persona changed. You were still nice, and still friendly to whoever talked to you. You were still Brittany. But, once you turned thirteen, there was a guarded part to you. You started being less of an open book and more of a locked diary. It didn't bother your parents, they realised your body was going through changes and it was confusing for you, but you didn't like it one bit. You hated the shyness that had consumed you. It wasn't the old you, the you that you loved and missed the most.

You waited for the day that you would walk out your front door, see someone crossing onto your street and feel the urge to go over and talk to them, like you used to, but your anxiety around people never really went away. On your twenty first birthday, your two friends dragged you to a club in the part of town that you like to avoid at all costs, and you ended up leaving after ten minutes, in a state of nerves and panic. You hated the close proximity with strangers, you hated the unwanted lingering looks from men that you were all too familiar of from your high school days, when your body started actually looking like a teenager's body. You remember being told that you had a lot going for you; you were tall, long, and conventionally attractive, and it was sure to attract male attention. You didn't want any of that. It was _so_ confusing for you.

Fast forward three years and you were still the same. But at this point, you had given up hope. You lived in a tiny, box apartment on your own, barely able to pay rent. You had a job as a barista in the local Starbucks, and you thought having to deal with so many people in a day would be absolute torture for you, but you actually enjoyed it. The one thing that never changed about you since you were little was that you loved people-watching, and you did plenty of that from behind the counter, daydreaming of what each person you served lives could be like. Your own life wasn't exciting, so you may as well think about other people's ones.

You were in dire need of a new job, though. You were getting paid minimum wage at Starbucks, and you were determined not to be there for the rest of your life. As a teenager, you dreamed of walking down a busy street in New York City, dressed in a sophisticated pantsuit, a cup of coffee in one hand and a briefcase in the other. Needless to say, it hadn't really worked out for you.

So when you were in the local supermarket up one morning, (you now think it must have been fate for an ad in the newspaper to catch your eye), at the time, a little light bulb appeared in your mind. You read each word carefully as your eyes moved along them:

 _Day-time carer needed for patient with mystery virus. Patient finds any sort of movement below the neck challenging, although manageable._

Very few details were given; the name of the person who needed the carer, or even their gender wasn't mentioned. Only a phone number and the name of the person who owned the phone was printed at the bottom, under a short description of what the job entailed and the amount these people were willing to pay, which you had to read over and over again, because you couldn't quite believe someone would pay that much an hour.

You had to admit, you knew very little about looking after _anyone_ , let alone someone without the complete use of their body, but you felt like it was a sign.

You couldn't afford the newspaper because you came to the store knowing exactly what you wanted to buy and had the exact change for it, but you took a sneaky picture of the ad with your phone, and paid for your things.

As you walked home, thoughts wandered through your mind about how this job would not be such a good idea. It would be a great opportunity and great for your resume, but on the other hand you'd have no idea what to do, and you might even make this person's situation worse. You were a little torn on what to do.

When you entered your home, you placed your bag on the kitchen table, and moved quickly to the living room and collapsed on the couch, feeling utterly exhausted. Just as you were getting comfortable, you heard your phone beep, and you groaned, reaching into your pocket and seeing you got a text message from your friend Tina.

 _Starbucks near your place in 10? x_

You sighed, typing a quick affirmative and sending it before getting up and walking out your front door. You exited your apartment building quickly enough as you're on the bottom floor and ventured out into the cold October air.

You thought you'd get there before Tina but when you entered the coffee shop, she was already sitting there, looking down at her phone and sipping her coffee. "Hey," you greeted, removing your jacket and draping it on the back of your chair, before taking a seat opposite her.

Tina looked up and smiled. "Hey, you. Long time no see."

"Yeah, sorry," you breathed, glancing up at the menu boards. "I've been busy. You know, with working here."

She nodded slowly in understanding, and there was a tense silence. "I didn't know what to order for you, we don't get coffee a lot so…"

You cringed internally when she once again implied that you don't see each other often, so you tried to ease the situation by smiling softly. "It's okay, I don't think I want one anyway."

Money didn't come easily to Tina either so she didn't insist on buying you one, she just nodded once again. "So, how are things?"

You shrugged, not really knowing what to tell her. "Well, you know. I'm surviving."

Tina smiled sadly at you. "That's no way to look at things, Britt."

"Yeah, well, nothing is exactly keeping me here."

"You should get a hobby," she told you after short pause. "Maybe you should come to tango class with me and Mike."

You let out a laugh. "Doesn't that require a partner? I think going to a dance class with you guys would depress me further."

Tina looked crestfallen, slumping back in her seat. "You used to love dancing, Britt. What happened?"

You shrugged again. You found that you shrugged a lot when it came to talking about yourself. You sometimes felt like you didn't know who you were anymore.

Tina tried again. "It might cheer you up after a while. I'll let you tango with Mike, if you like."

"No." You put up a finger to stop her. "Thank you, but no." You felt like Tina was always trying to _fix_ you, even though deep down you knew she was just concerned about your wellbeing.

She sighed in defeat, her fingers moving around her cup of coffee, but she didn't stop looking at your face. "Nothing else to report?"

You shook your head. "Nope. Everyday is repetitive."

"I think you just need a change of scenery," Tina suggested, taking a swig of her drink and placing it down on the table. "A new apartment, or a new job perhaps?"

Your mind suddenly went to the advert in the newspaper, and Tina must have seen the change in your expression because she looked at you expectantly.

You exhaled loudly, leaning back in your chair. "I saw an ad in the newspaper about a job, and it pays a hundred an hour, but I don't know…"

"Why not?" She sounded enthusiastic. She probably cared more about your life than you did. "It sounds perfect for you and that's a hell of a lot of money."

You let out a cruel laugh. "You don't even know what it is yet, and it's not perfect for me at all."

"Sorry," Tina said, crossing her arms, her face suddenly stoic. "Explain."

"It's for a carer for someone with some sort of illness." You almost felt self conscious as you told her.

Tina looked a little lost, and very surprised. "Oh, I see."

You let your shoulders slump as you sighed. "I know it's stupid that I'd even think about going for a job like this, I mean I have n-"

"Oh, you're going for this interview." She picked her coffee up and sipped it.

"What do you mean?" you frowned. "There would be no point."

Tina raised an eyebrow. "Of course there would be. Firstly, if you got this job, it could be the thing to bring you out of this slump you've been in. Secondly, you're a nice girl and you're freakin' hilarious when you're not too busy feeling sorry for yourself. I think someone like you is exactly what this person could need in their life."

"But I have no idea what I'll have to do," you whined, starting to feel panicked. "I'll probably have to bathe this person, and do everything for them."

Tina burst out laughing. "Okay, that is something you'll get used to, trust me. When I had to look after my mom before she died, I had to wash her every second day. It was gross at first, but after a while it just became a routine."

You turned your face away from her, trying not to smirk.

"Listen to me, Britt." You slowly turned back around to see Tina staring back at you, seriousness written all over her face. "I bet the main reason they're hiring someone is to cheer this person up. They probably have loads of carers, if the amount of money they're paying is something to judge on."

You said nothing, and just thought to yourself.

She continued. "Now go home and make this phone call." She grabbed her scarf and flicked it at you, and you laughed, standing up from your seat.

"Okay, okay." You started putting your coat back on. "I'll let you know how it goes."

Tina grinned at you. "You better." Her face then grew serious, like she was about to say something important. "Look after yourself, Britt. Okay?"

She looked at you like she wanted you to swear you would so you have her a thin lipped smile. "I promise."

The first thing you did once you reached home was dig out your phone from the pocket of your jeans and search for the number in your photo album. All you felt was determination at that point. Tina was right. You needed this.

They picked up after one ring. "Hello?" It was a gruff, tired voice, and definitely male. You wondered briefly if this was the person that required treatment, but you dismissed that thought almost immediately. Someone who was paying a hundred dollars an hour for a seven-day-a-week job must have people to answer the phone for them.

You cleared your throat awkwardly. "Hello, Mr Lopez?" You mentally patted yourself on the back for remembering to get the name in the ad. "I'm calling about the ad in the newspaper."

"Ah, yes." He sounded slightly more perky now, and his voice had lit up in recognition. He suddenly sounded like he thought this phone call may not be a total waste of his time. "May I get your name?"

"Brittany Pierce," you replied, proud that your voice hadn't wavered or broken at all yet.

You heard the man rustle, presumably getting some paper to write your name down. "And would you be free for an interview tomorrow afternoon, Ms Pierce?"

Your eyes widened, and you began to panic slightly. You didn't realise it would be so soon. "Oh, I think I would, yes."

Mr Lopez must have sensed the stress in your voice, because he retorted quickly. "I know it's short notice, but we require someone for this job as soon as possible, really."

You nodded slowly, refraining from smacking your palm to your forehead. Of course the interview process needed to start quickly, given the nature of the job. "Could you give me a time frame, please?"

"Two thirty. And I suppose you need to know where to go for the interview, as well."

"Of course," you said, grabbing a pen from the coffee table and scribbling the time and address down on your hand as he called it out to you. 4 Manor Avenue. You knew that place. You grew up near there.

As you finished writing, you got a sudden thought, something that had been eating away at you. "I must let you know, I don't really have much experience in th-"

Mr Lopez cut you off, his voice sounding colder than it did a minute ago. "Let's leave this sort of discussion for tomorrow, shall we?"

You nodded meekly to yourself, biting your bottom lip. It's a thing you did when you were nervous. "Okay."

"Wonderful." His tone let you know he thought it was anything but wonderful. "If you do well in the interview and get the job, you can start working with Santana the following day."

Santana. Your first thought was that the invalid was female. Your second thought was that she was probably his elderly wife, or possibly his sister. You felt slightly more relaxed, knowing it was a woman. You were more in your comfort zone with other girls. "Okay. Thank you, sir."

He didn't say anything else before he hung up.

You didn't get an ounce of sleep that night. All these thoughts whirled around in your head, latching themselves to your brain and remaining there. You wondered if the family would hate you; whether you'd disappoint the interviewer with your lack of knowledge on being a nurse, or whether you'd annoy the patient who probably wouldn't want to be part of your lame attempts to make conversation.

You rolled onto your side, exhaling and closing your eyes, beginning to count sheep in your mind.

* * *

You woke up feeling exhausted and drained, the insides of your eyes burning each time you blinked. Spreading your limbs out on your bed, you sighed loudly, throwing your legs over the side of your bed and forcing yourself to stand up.

Each morning was the same to you. You could almost do your morning routine in your sleep; wake up, get out of bed, trudge to your kitchen to get breakfast, put on the top half of your outfit, go brush your teeth and moisturise, put on the bottom half of your outfit, leave. It was weird, you knew that, but it was the way you had always been. You couldn't function for the day if your morning didn't start off like that. As you pulled your shirt over your head, you began to think that this OCD could be adding to your general unhappiness.

You glanced at the clock; 8:47. Rolling your eyes, you shrugged your cardigan onto your shoulders before stuffing your phone in your pocket, rushing to the kitchen, grabbing an apple and heading out the door, slamming it as you went.

You were surprised to see that the sun was shining rather brightly on the pavement in front of Starbucks. You entered, the bell by the door ringing to announce your presence as you smiled at your co-workers, hanging your cardigan up on the coatrack and proceeding to take your apron from out of your bag.

"Good morning, Brittany," Dave, your boss, greeted you warmly. Dave was a stocky, burly man in his mid-twenties. During your third month working in this coffee shop, you were shocked to find out that Dave was in fact gay, and in a six year relationship with his high school sweetheart, Ollie. Dave was pretty much the opposite to a gay stereotype, but it strangely made you respect him more than you already did.

"Morning, Dave," you smiled, tying the apron around your waist. You watched as Dave shot you a disapproving look, and you tilt your head down to stare at your white shirt. "Sorry, I woke up late."

Swiftly grabbing a coffee pot and placing it in the sink, Dave laughed fondly, but his tone was firm and serious. "I don't think I've ever had to talk to an employee about dress code so much before, Brittany. You must be wearing black."

You throw your hands up in the air in submission. "It won't happen again." You strode behind the counter, setting up your cups and marker in front of you. You glanced at the clock and sighed, preparing yourself for the hours of work ahead of you.

Six hours into your shift and you were exhausted. It was a regular day, none of the customers were too weird and you got no abuse for getting some of the orders wrong, which you did quite a lot. You honestly don't know how Dave hasn't let you go yet.

"You're done, Britt," Noah, your co-worker, told you, walking up beside you at the counter.

You wiped your forehead with the back of your hand. Working at Starbucks got pretty intense sometimes. "Is it one o' clock already?"

"Nah, Britt, it's two. You took up an extra hour today cos you had to leave work early last weekend, remember?" Noah began to straighten out his black shirt under his apron, but you weren't paying attention to that.

"It's two?" you repeated, ignoring his question. You felt panic rush through your body and cloud your vision as Noah nodded dumbly. "Shit!" Grabbing your bag from under the counter, you rushed around the till and leaped at the door, not before nabbing your cardigan from the coatrack and yelling a 'see you later' to Dave and Noah.

You realised you haven't run this fast or this far since PE in high school. It was a stupid thing to think about while dodging pedestrians on your way to a really important interview that started in about twenty five minutes, but it was the only thought running through your head. You didn't know how many _look where you_ _'_ _re going_ 'sor _watch it, lady_ 's you got, but you honestly didn't care.

You remembered the address Mr Lopez gave you, and you were familiar with the area they were in. You supposed 'Santana' was going to be at some sort of private hospital in the area, or something, but as you neared Manor Avenue, you searched for building number four. You spotted it straight away, and stared at it in awe.

4 Manor Avenue was no hospital.

A giant building was in front of you, half made out of bricks, and the other half was glass. Ivy creeped up the wall of the old part of the house while the half made of glass was completely spotless. A pure white couch could be seen from one of the windows, but you weren't interested in the inside of the building, yet. The front steps were made out of grey marble, which led to an even nicer front door, which was dusty blue, large and elegant.

You could certainly get used to working here.

The gravel crunched beneath your feet as you slowly made your way up the drive, noticing the giant plants which were placed in shiny, blue pots. These people must be utterly _loaded_.

You placed a shaking finger on the doorbell, trying to will yourself to add a little bit of pressure to it. You rolled your eyes at your stupidity, because you had to do it at some point. You rang the bell quickly and snapped your arm down to your side.

The door was opened within seconds, and a very tired looking man stood before you. Wearing grey slacks and blue sweater vest, he looked older than his years, and his face made him look even more ancient than that. Wrinkled from stress and lack of sleep, he looked to be in his seventies. Giving you a thin-lipped smile, he stepped aside, gesturing for you to enter. "You must be Ms Pierce," he said, peeling your cardigan from off your shoulders, not even asking first.

"Yes, sir," you replied, putting your arms behind your back.

After placing your cardigan over the banister of some very grand looking stairs, he took a first, good look at you. You felt uncomfortable and weary under his stare. "Nice attire," he deadpanned, and you glanced down to see that you had, of course, forgotten to take your Starbucks apron off. You looked up with a nervous smile, figuring it was too late to do something about it now, and you just prayed it added some character to you as you followed him down the foyer, and into one very fancily decorated office.

Too nervous to even look around the room in fear of your curiosity being commented on, you sat in front of him at the desk, finding a sudden interest in the nails on your left hand. Mr Lopez followed your eye line to your hand, and let out a breath. "Are you very forgetful, Ms Pierce?"

"I-What?" Your heart stopped dead in your chest. You felt lightheaded and sick.

He pointed towards the hand you were just studying, and you nearly died when you saw that faintly written on the back of it was his address. "Oh, I, uh," you began, but Mr Lopez put a hand up to stop you.

"Unimportant as of now." He glanced down at his desk briefly, before making eye contact with you. "Okay, Brittany Pierce," he stated loudly, taking a pen in his hand and jotting your name down on the first page of an unused notepad. "Age?"

"Twenty-four."

"Date of birth?"

You briefly wondered if this was really important as you replied. You had never felt so intimidated in your whole life. "April twenty-fifth."

Mr Lopez hasn't looked up at you since he started writing. "Wonderful." He dropped the pen and leaned back in his chair, folding his hands on his stomach and looking you dead in the eye. "I have only one question for you, now. Tell me, Ms Pierce, in no more than one hundred words, why you should get this job." You didn't even get to open your mouth before he added, "and please, do be honest with me. This is important."

Oh.

You gulped visibly, and began to fiddle with the strings of tassel drooping down from the chair you were sitting on. The nerves you felt were starting to dissipate as you made the decision that you weren't going to give him some fancy bullshit as an answer. If he wanted honesty, that's what he'll get. "In short?" Mr Lopez gave you a nod. "I don't know." You shrugged one shoulder, doing your best to avoid eye contact. "I'm not doing so well at that moment, financially. Times are tough, and I'm lucky to pick up an extra shift at Starbucks. I know nothing about how to look after an invalid of any kind, let alone one with some kind of mystery virus. I don't have excellent people skills, so if you want someone there to cheer your wife up when she's feeling particularly sick, then I am not right for this job. But, I am a very hard worker. I would stay over nights if you want, I'll work sixteen hour days, more. I'm just trying to survive, put food on the table." You started to sound like you were pleading, so you stopped for a second to compose yourself. "I will honestly do anything for a little extra money. And I'll keep to myself. I'm very much used to that."

Mr Lopez put a hand up to stop you once again, and you bit your lip. "I am not looking for someone talkative and optimistic. Someone trying to cheer Santana up just gets on her nerves, and I can't blame her. You have no idea how many nurses we've had who tried to tell her 'it'll get better' or 'you can live happily like this'. There's a complicated answer to why she can't live happily like she is, but the short version is that she's house ridden and can barely move her arms and legs." He smiled sadly. "We just need a hard worker. That seems to be you, kid." He paused, and gave you something that looked like a sly smile. "And, Santana is my _daughter_ , not my wife. She's your age."

Stunned, you just sat there in your seat, not daring to move except to speak. "I see."

A strong looking hand was stretched across the desk. "You start at eight tomorrow morning. Don't be late. I trust that you're punctual, Ms Pierce." You nodded dumbly, weakly shaking Mr Lopez's hand and standing up abruptly, your chair squeaking against the marble floor.

The next thing you knew, Mr Lopez was shutting the front door gently behind you, and you found yourself walking down that drive in a complete daze.

You guessed being honest really does work.

* * *

It was overcast the day you met Santana Lopez.

You remembered the sound of your alarm, letting you know it was seven in the morning. You stretched, got up, and peaked out the curtains to see the gloomy clouds towering over the buildings, before you started your regular morning routine.

It wasn't until you were half way into your cereal that you realised that you were nervous to meet Santana. Judging by what her father said yesterday, she doesn't like talking all that much, so you and her should get along fine. There was still that little pinch of uncertainty, that unsettlement resting at the bottom of your stomach.

It wasn't long before you found yourself in front of 4 Manor Avenue again, but this time the giant gates, that were open the previous day, were now closed. You hesitantly walked up to the speaker and pressed the buzzer.

The familiar tone of Mr Lopez boomed through the speaker. "I'll open them now, Ms Pierce."

Before you could reply, the gates opened slowly and swiftly. They were so elegant and big, you felt like you were walking up to Willy Wonka's factory as you made your way up that familiar drive. The front door opened before you reached the steps, and Mr Lopez moved aside to let you in. He smiled, immediately taking your jacket from you like he did before. He leaned in close to you after placing it over the banister. "Today's not a good day, but she doesn't bite at new people," he whispered. "I'll take you to her now."

Nerves began to multiply in your body and you felt like they were trying to crawl up and out of you as you followed Mr Lopez down a different route to the one he took you on yesterday. "She has two other nurses who look after her," he told you. "One of them does physical and mouth exercises with her and the other one sorts out her Jevity pump. All you have to do is bring her things she asks for or might want or need."

You looked at him quizzically. "What's a Jevity pump?"

"Santana can't eat," he explained, still walking. "She has to get her nourishment from a tube that's inserted into her stomach which is attached to a bottle of fluid called Jevity."

You scrunch your face up in worry and sympathy as you kept up with Mr Lopez's quick pace. He stopped outside a door, and tapped it lightly with his knuckles. "Mija? You decent?"

There was silence before you heard a response, breathy and tired sounding. "Yeah, come in, Dad."

The door opened with a creak and Mr Lopez stepped inside, before subtly beckoning you in after him. You took a nervous step, standing behind the man, who you were almost taller than. "Your new nurse starts today," Mr Lopez said softly, moving aside so you were visible to Santana. "This is Ms Pierce."

You gave a little, shy wave. "Call me Brittany," you croaked, quickly stuffing your hands into the pockets of your jeans.

Santana stared back at you with a blank expression on her face. Her hair was thin, limp and lifeless on her shoulders, her skin looked sickly and almost yellow, and although her body was securely trapped under the blankets of her bed, it was obvious that she was a bit shorter than you. Her lips were full but almost blue in colour, and her eyes looked tired and sad. You could tell that she had been very beautiful once, but this virus seemed to have knocked her completely, and taken away her interest in her appearance. If you had to describe what she looked like in one sentence, you'd say she looked exhausted from life. Your heart clenched, really feeling for a woman that you'd only been in the presence of for all of ten seconds.

There was an awful smell in the room, like a hospital ward, and it was then when you noticed the bottles of Jevity on the desk beside Santana, the liquid a dull beige colour.

Mr Lopez cleared his throat, getting rid of the silence. "Well, I'll leave you two girls to get acquainted." He moved behind the door, and mouthed _talk to her_ at you. You smiled a little to yourself. It seemed like this man had your back.

You walked over timidly and stood beside the bed, which held the girl who was now looking straight ahead of her, refusing to look in your direction. You awkwardly shrugged one of your shoulders. "Um, could I get anything for you?"

Santana briefly glanced at you before looking back at the wall in front of her. "Tea would be nice. Camomile."

You smiled at her but she didn't return it, and you strode towards the door, wanting to get out of there. Once the door was shut, you pressed your back up against it, closed your eyes and let out a long sigh.

It was going to be a long day.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

You let your fingers rest on the wooden door in front of you before you took a deep breath, plastered a fake smile on your face, knocked lightly and yanked the door open, finding it hard to walk and balance a cup and saucer at the same time. "Sorry it took so long," you muttered, not looking Santana in the eye. "I got lost on the way to the kitchen again."

You had been in that house for an hour and a half and you needed to leave. Badly. You must have fetched four cups of tea for Santana in that time, but she hasn't looked at you or spoken to you since the first moment you met. She just hummed when you asked her if she wanted more tea, and whenever you brought it to her she humphed as a thank you, acknowledging your presence each time, but only barely. It was beginning to annoy you, but you didn't want to be irritable on your first day, so you kept your mouth shut and continued working.

This time it was different though, because when you spun on your heel and started to walk out the door, you heard a small voice from behind you. "I asked for no sugar this time. I can see it swirling around in the bottom of the cup."

You turned around to see Santana looking directly at you, her face stoic and her eyes emotionless. "Would you like me to make you another?" you sighed, leaning against the door frame.

Santana tore herself away from your gaze, forcing herself to look directly into the steaming cup of berry tea in her hands. You learned in the past hour that although Santana spent pretty much all of her time in bed or the living room, she could move her arms and legs, albeit very slowly. Her left arm slowly bent and she brought the cup up to her lips and sipped. "It's fine," she finally decided. She glanced back up at you. You must have looked uncertain because her eyes softened slightly, but the rest of her face didn't change. "It's fine."

You smiled weakly at her, and of course it wasn't returned, and you fled from the room, exhaling loudly.

In the time you had been in 4 Manor Avenue, you had been inside four rooms; Mr Lopez's office, Santana's room, the kitchen and one of the living rooms. You were astonished that they had more than one, but it was the last thing on your mind at that point. You made your way into the living room you were familiar with and threw yourself onto the spotless white sofa, not bothering to take your shoes off, sprawled across it and rubbed your eyes.

"Stains don't come out of that, you know."

Your eyes sprung open and you saw a woman standing in front of you, her eyes trained on your shoes. She looked to be the same age as Mr Lopez, maybe even more worn out looking. She wore a casual, summer dress, even though it was fall, and a cross around her neck. "I'm sorry, ma'am," you apologised, sitting up and planting your feet on the floor. You could feel your face burning up, and you wouldn't have been surprised if a blush was extremely noticeable.

If it was, this woman didn't let it on. "I'm Maribel Lopez, Santana's mother," she told you, stepping forward and reaching a hand out to you. You shook it and forced a smile. "You must be the new nurse my husband was telling me about."

"I'm Brittany," you told her, stepping backwards for some unknown reason. "I only started this morning."

Sympathy flashed across Maribel's face, and held her hands on her stomach lightly. She then leaned forward, as if to tell you a secret. "The first few weeks with her are the hardest, you know," she whispered, her eyes trained on yours. "All of the nurses have said that. Once Santana has warmed up to you a little, she'll be less difficult."

Your first response was to shake your head. "She hasn't done anything too… _extreme_ yet. She's just been a little quiet." _A little_ was an understatement but you felt it was best not to add that in.

Maribel smiled at you sadly, like she pitied you. "Okay. But don't say I didn't warn you." She averted her gaze, favouring the carpet instead of your eyes. "Santana lost a lot of her spirit after she got sick, but her sharp tongue remained in tact, that's for sure."

You were a little bit lost for words. You couldn't quite put a finger on as to why this was one of the most uncomfortable conversations of your life, but it certainly was up there. "I, uh, better check on Santana."

"Of course," Maribel replied, giving you a thin lipped smile. "Just to let you know, Mr Lopez and I work everyday, and we'll be gone from late morning to late evening."

You smiled in response, before beginning to set off down to Santana's room.

"One more thing." You turned to see Ms Lopez still standing in the same spot in the living room. "Make sure you check her temperature every now and again. She's very prone to infection and she finds it difficult to tell whether she's feeling hot or cold."

You nodded your head in thanks to Santana's mother, and quickly darted out of the room, praying to whoever or whatever was looking out for you that you could actually remember the way to Santana's room. Panic clouded your vision, as you thought about how if you couldn't even remember simple directions to a room that you'd be spending a lot of time coming and going from, that this job wasn't going to last long.

After a few twists and turns, you found yourself outside the familiar door to her bedroom. You could tell the difference between the door to Santana's room and all the others, because there was the faint marks left by stickers on them; she probably had stickers on her door as a kid, and then peeled them off as she got older, you reasoned.

The door was slightly ajar, and you bent and leaned forward so you could carefully put your eye to the slit. Santana was still sitting up in bed, but only this time she was reading a book. Her hands trembled slightly as she held it, shaking under the weight and pressure. As she slowly raised her left hand to turn the page, you could see the pain and utter misery written on her face, and you don't think you've ever felt so sorry for someone in your whole life. You decided she probably wanted to be alone, so you ducked your head and headed down the hallway quietly, so she wouldn't notice your presence.

Because you had been so busy in the past two hours, you hadn't taken much time to look around the house you were in. You didn't even notice the abundance of photos all over the walls and tables. A photo of teenage Santana with two of her friends caught your eye, and once you got closer you gasped in shock.

Because wow.

You were stunned at the difference in how she looked. Firstly, she was grinning from ear to ear in the picture, which caused you to frown deeply, as you didn't think she had smiled once in the whole two hours you had been there. Secondly, her hair had so much volume and her skin was utterly flawless; you honestly wouldn't have believed the girl in the photo was the same girl in the bed a few doors down from you. And lastly, she actually looked _happy_. Her body language was completely different, and her eyes were bright and full of joy and fun. You mentally compared the picture to the girl you know now, and you almost cried. The girl you just met seemed hopeless, the light drained from her eyes, her face emotionless. No wonder she didn't want to leave her house; she felt there was nothing to leave the house _for_.

Seeing that photo gave you the confidence to spin on your heel and march back down to Santana's room, swinging the door open without a second thought. The door banged rather loudly on the wall adjacent to it, and Santana's head snapped towards you, and her book fell out of her hands. "Can I help you?" she asked, a little bit of bite behind her words.

"I was just coming to ask if you wanted tea," you replied, keeping your chin up high in the air, looking down at her through your eyelashes.

Santana studied your face for a second, before her eyes turned dark in irritation. Her facial expression changed and you could tell that what was about to come next wouldn't be pretty. "I want you to listen to these words very carefully, because it doesn't seem like you understand things very easily." You winced; you hadn't even spent a whole shift with her yet and she had already picked up that you weren't the smartest person going. That probably had something do with the fact that you got lost each time you tried getting from the kitchen to her room. "You were given this buzzer for a reason." She gestured to the small device that was clipped onto the side of your jeans. "Don't come into my room without knocking in future, I could be getting my tube fit in, or something even worse." She gestured towards the bottles of Jevity on her desk. "Is that clear, Blondie?"

You were stunned into silence, the feeling of defeat taking over you as you realised how much Santana's words stung you. You found that the only thing you could do was nod, and Santana seemed satisfied with your reaction, because she stopped looking at you and went back to working on picking her book back up, as if nothing happened at all. You retreated out of the room silently, now having a deeper understanding of what Maribel told you earlier.

The doorbell ringing interrupted your thoughts, and you, desperate for a distraction from your embarrassment and genuine upset, raced to the front door, unlocking it quickly before opening it.

"Oh, hi," the woman said, widening her eyes and smiling briefly at you before taking off her jacket and hanging it over the banister. She was a bit shorter than you and very attractive, with shoulder length blonde hair. "Are you a new nurse?"

You nodded. "I'm Brittany Pierce," you said, sticking out your hand. "I only started this morning."

She shot you the same type of smile Mrs Lopez gave you earlier. "Have you already been warned about the wrath of Santana?"

"I've experienced it, actually," you chuckled, trying to act nonchalant about it, when in reality it actually had an effect on you. "She told me I should never enter her room without knocking, insulted my intelligence and called me _Blondie_ all in one breath."

The woman grimaced, and started to walk towards the kitchen, with you following close behind her. "You entered her room without knocking first? That's, like, Santana's ultimate pet peeve."

"Noted." You watched as she began to take a packet of bread out of the press and unwrap it. "Are you one of Santana's other nurses?"

"Oh, I'm sorry." The woman paused in cutting slices of bread up to look up at you. "I never even told you my name. I'm Quinn Fabray, and yes, I'm Santana's speech therapist."

You frowned. "Why does Santana need a speech therapist? Her speech seemed fine to me."

"Well," Quinn started, fetching some ham, lettuce and tomatoes out of the fridge. "That's because she has me. Because Santana doesn't eat, she's not exercising her throat and mouth muscles, and over time, to put it simply, her throat muscles will get lazy and weak, and her speech will get increasingly worse, to the point where it would take her a full minute to make any sort of noise."

"Is this common?" you asked, leaning against the kitchen island.

Quinn shrugged. "It is in people who aren't exercising the muscles around their larynx enough. I have four house call patients, and I see people in hospitals, also."

"Could you cure anyone, even if it gets really bad?"

"No," Quinn told you, shaking her head. "If it gets to the point that the person can only make grunts every ten seconds, it's probably too late. Santana's parents were wise and knew Santana's speech would be an issue from the moment she lost her appetite."

You let your shoulders slump and your chest deflate. Talking to Quinn made you feel inadequate. "You know so much about how to help Santana. That's really impressive."

"I've been here for a few years now," Quinn said modestly. "I know the ropes. What brought you to 4 Manor Avenue, Brittany Pierce?"

You shrugged, self conscious. "All I'm really here to do is bring her some liquids," you admitted sheepishly. "I have no real qualifications to help her. And right now, I'm still trying to find my way around the house and trying to learn how to deal with Santana."

"She can be a handful, alright," Quinn laughed, moving to the fridge to take out a bottle of Sprite, before pouring it into a cup. "Most of her nurses couldn't even handle a month with her, she's that bad."

You cocked your head to the side. "Did she not give you the same treatment?"

"Oh, she did," Quinn smirked, putting down the bottle of Sprite and placing a slice of bread on a now finished BLT. "Still does, actually. But, I can take it, I'm tough skinned. Maybe that's why her and I get on so well. Over time, her 'attacks' won't be attacks anymore, it's just the way she is. The more she does it, the more comfortable she feels around you." She took a bite of her sandwich, and you felt stupidly envious, wondering how long it would take for you to be that comfortable in 4 Manor Avenue that you'd be making food for yourself.

Quinn moved towards you and handed you the cup of Sprite. "Here, bring that to Santana, it's her favourite." She whispered it as if it was a secret, and you laughed, remembering to store that information away for safe keeping.

"Thanks for that tip."

"It's no problem. I better come with you so you remember to knock this time." Quinn winked at you and you flushed, feeling stupid as you followed her down the hall to Santana's room.

Quinn tapped her knuckles on the bedroom door before opening it slightly with a wide smile. "How's my favourite patient?"

Santana looked up, and let a wide smile take over her face once she saw Quinn peering in. "Well, Fabgay, you finally showed. You're at _least_ twenty minutes late this time. Hot date from last night refused to leave this morning?"

"I was just getting aquatinted with your new nurse here." She gestured towards you, and immediately Santana's smile dropped at the mention of you. Feeling nervous by the two pairs of eyes on you, you thrust the glass of Sprite in front of Santana's face, mentally face-palming straight after.

Santana and Quinn looked at each other, and Quinn burst out laughing while Santana watched you curiously, her eyes completely glazed over with childlike wonder. "She got that for you," Quinn giggled, eying you. "Right, Brittany?"

"Yeah," you said, nodding hesitantly. You were cringing at yourself internally, and really wanted nothing more just to get out of there, so you began to walk backwards slowly. You wished they would just stop looking at you; you really didn't need a reminder that you were the most awkward person in existence, you were already aware of that.

Quinn smiled at you as Santana continued to look at you curiously, before reaching out slowly and taking the glass from you. "Thanks for the drink," she muttered, before turning her attention to Quinn.

You took that as your cue to leave so you stepped outside and shut the door behind you, exhaling a breath you didn't even know you were holding. You could still hear the muttered voices of Quinn and Santana faintly through the wood.

"What do you make of her?"

You registered Santana pausing as she searched for an answer. "She's… definitely _quirky_ , I'll give her that much."

You heard Quinn make a point of lowering her voice, as if she knew you were outside listening. "I think she's a little bit sensitive, go easy on her."

Santana didn't reply after that, so you just slinked down the hallway, and sat in the living room on your own, just waiting to be called.

* * *

Quinn left half an hour ago and you still weren't called to Santana's room, so you had spent the last while just lying on the couch in the living room, your feet hanging over one of the arms. You felt a little bit worried, but you really weren't complaining; you were beginning to get the feeling you and Santana would never have the relationship her and Quinn had, where the insults and mocking were only just banter and fun between people who were friends. You accepted right there in that moment that you and Santana would never be friends; you were just too different.

The feeling of the buzzer vibrating against your hip broke you from the thoughts swirling around in your mind, and you practically sprinted down the hallway to Santana's room, quickly remembering to knock quickly first before opening it.

Santana gave you an amused look. "You don't have to knock if I actually call for you, Blondie. That means I'm expecting you."

You nodded dumbly and walked over to the side of Santana's bed. "What can I do for you?"

Santana pointed weakly to the folded up wheelchair in the far corner of the room. "Could you set that up and lift me onto it, please?"

Your eyes widened but you complied anyway, rushing over to set up the chair, feeling Santana's eyes burning the back of your head, which made you mess up a lot in trying to open it up. You could hear Santana's huffs of impatience behind you, so when you actually did set it up, you were relieved as hell. You dragged the chair over to the right side of Santana's bed and whipped the duvet off of her. You let yourself smile a little when you saw that Santana's pyjamas had small sheep all over the shirt.

Santana rolled her eyes at you. "Stop judging and get lifting me."

"I wasn't judging," you told her honestly, pulling her around so she was sitting up facing you. "I like 'em." You didn't exactly know how to lift a grown woman, so you felt even more awkward than usual because it was _Santana_. You locked your arms around her lower back and pulled her up in the air, your face practically buried in her neck and hair. You spun around and just as you did that, you lost your footing, and dropped Santana onto the floor where she hit her head and shoulder off the bedside table.

"Fucking ow," she yelped, moving slowly to sit properly on the ground, her eyes scrunching up and her face contorted with agony. She planted her palms on the carpet and tried to move herself up onto her feet, but her arms wobbled beneath her and she collapsed back down onto the ground, letting out a desperate sigh of defeat.

"I'm so sorry," you gasped, reaching down to help her, mentally slapping yourself over and over in your head. Panic thundered in your ears, and you were thinking about all the ways you could mess this up further.

Santana put up a hand to stop you, her eyes closed in humiliation and irritation. " _Don_ _'_ _t_." You sheepishly retreated, and when the doorbell rang suddenly, both your and Santana's heads snapped towards her bedroom door.

"Go get it," Santana ordered, her voice weak and pained. "It's probably Kurt."

You didn't stop to look at her as you darted out of the room and down the hallway, desperately trying not to do anything that would increase your chances of getting fired any further. You reached the door and pulled it open, the man on the other side, slim and slightly taller than you, looking at you, slightly puzzled. "Hi," he said, reaching his hand out to you. "I'm Kurt."

"No time," you panted, ignoring his outstretched hand. "Santana's had an accident."

Kurt's eyes bulged out of his head, before shrugging his coat off and letting it fall to the ground, running down the hall, with you a step behind him. He entered the room without knocking and glided over to Santana, reaching under her arms to pull her into her chair. Her hair was all over the place and she looked exhausted. "Thanks, Kurt," she breathed.

"Are you feeling okay?" he asked calmly, grabbing the handles of her wheelchair to tilt her so she could look at both of you. "What hurts?"

"Just my head and shoulder, a little. I'll be fine."

Kurt looked uncertain. "Do you feel dizzy? Is that why you fell?" He put his hand on her forehead, presumably to check for a fever.

Santana shook her head.

"What happened?" he asked, his brow furrowed in concern.

Santana's eyes flickered to you. "She was carrying me to my chair and she dropped me."

Your gaze shifted to the floor, unable to look either of them in the eye. The atmosphere in the room was so uncomfortable.

"Are you a new nurse?" Kurt asked, and you lifted your eyes and nodded, still not making eye contact. He smiled at you comfortingly. "Well, come with me while I get my bag, I left it by the door."

You found yourself nodding again, and then you looked to Santana. "Do you need anything else?" You were trying to make it seem like a small deal, when in fact you might have just ruined your first proper job.

Santana's hands gripped the arms of her wheelchair in anger, her lips lifting up in disgust and contempt. "No, thank you. You've done enough damage today already."

You recoiled at the acid in her tone, and felt tears begin to sting the backs of your eyes, so you just backed slowly out of the room, seeing the disapproving look Kurt shot Santana's way as he followed you.

"Hey," he said softly, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. You instinctively went to move away, but Kurt clutched onto your shoulder. "Don't worry about it. She's fine, she'll forget about it."

You sniffed, walking slowly alongside Kurt. "I doubt it. I have a feeling she'll remember everything I do wrong. I always do _something_ wrong. It's like, in my nature, or something."

"I'm sure it'll all be forgotten about tomorrow."

You sighed heavily, stopping in your tracks and dropping your head into your hands. "Maybe I should just quit so Santana could have a proper nurse who doesn't almost kill her."

"Don't talk like that," Kurt said softly, tightening his arm around you. "I'm sure you're a great nurse. Really."

"No," you replied, shaking your head vigorously. Your breathing was starting to get ragged and deep. Not a good sign. "Santana needs someone better than me. All I'm good for is bringing her drinks and getting snapped at."

Kurt's brow furrowed in confusion, before shaking his head to clear his head. "How about you give it a week, okay? See how the next week goes, and if each day is as disastrous as this, you can consider quitting. Deal?"

You narrowed your eyes at him a little. "Why are you being so nice to me?"

"I'm nice to everyone," he told you, his eyes widening slightly but softening almost immediately afterwards, almost as if it hit him why you said that.

You sighed again, trying to give him a smile, your shoulders slumping in defeat. You weren't bothered to try and explain to him that you weren't exactly used to people being nice to you. Tina and Mike liked you, and you were sure Dave thought you were okay, but that's really it. You associated meeting new people with fear and discomfort. "Sorry," you whispered, your voice lowering.

Kurt's lips thinned in sympathy, before smiling widely at you. "Let's just start over and forget about it. Santana won't be thinking about it tomorrow. Stop being mopey."

You were about to protest, but you didn't see the point. This man seemed as stubborn as Santana probably was. "Okay."

"Great." Kurt reached his hand out. "I'm Kurt Hummel."

You took it reluctantly. "Brittany Pierce."

Kurt started towards his bag and coat which were lying by the front door, and you just awkwardly followed him. "What brought you to this neck of the woods?"

You gave him a blank look. "I'm pretty sure the closest forest is like, eight miles away."

Kurt looked up at you curiously, before bursting into a fit of giggles. "You're a treasure, Brittany. I meant, what brought you here to work for Mr Lopez?"

"I saw an ad in the newspaper," you explained, feeling very weary and self conscious for the millionth time that day. "I'm only a barista in Starbucks but I thought I had nothing to lose. I went for the interview, and I guess I did a good job, cos they hired me."

Kurt's eyes bulged. "Damn. And I went through seven years of medical school for this job." He picked up his jacket and placed it on the coat rack, and this is the first time you've actually seen someone _use_ that for their coat, instead of the banister. "So, Brittany," he started, bending forward to pick up his bag and holding it loosely in his hand as he looked at you. "How has your first day been?" His eyes widened when he realised what he said. "I mean, before the whole incident."

You smiled a tiny bit. "Would you be surprised if I told you it was going well before I dropped her?"

"I would."

"Well, it wasn't," you replied, and Kurt snorted in response. "I think she might hate me?"

Kurt waved you off. "No need to worry. Santana treats everyone like this at first. After a while, you become immune to her digs." He gave you a serious look. "You may not want to enter Santana's room for the next thirty minutes. The stuff I'll be doing for her is pretty gross." He started off down the hallway. "Nice meeting you, Nurse Brittany."

You nodded sadly, watching Kurt retreat down the hallway towards the scariest room in the house.

* * *

"She hates me."

You heard Tina scoff slightly on the other end of the phone. "I'm sure she doesn't _hate_ you."

"She definitely does." You sat up a little bit in bed and pulled your duvet up a little, so it was up to your neck. "God, you should have seen her face, Tina. If looks could kill, I'd be a goner."

"I'm sure you're just being dramatic," she replied, trying to comfort you in her own way. "I bet when you walk into her room tomorrow morning, it'll be like nothing ever happened."

You shook your head lightly. "This girl doesn't seem like she forgets anything. The sound of her voice when she told me I had 'done enough damage', it was so scary, Tina, seriously, like I can't even describe it."

There was a small pause on the other line, before you heard her clear her throat. "Okay, this is what you're going to do: you will go into work tomorrow morning as if you didn't drop a very sick woman and injure her-"

"Thanks for that." you mumbled, leaning over to your bedside locker so you could pick up your glass of water, careful not to disturb your cat, Lord Tubbington, who was curled up on your chest, snoring loudly.

"-you'll just treat her as you would have if that didn't happen," Tina continued. "And I bet after your shift tomorrow, it'll be the last thing on her mind, Britt. Honestly."

You took a sip of your water, shrugging with one shoulder. "I don't know if this job is for me, to be honest."

"Oh, honey," Tina laughed. "This job pays amazingly. If I were you, I wouldn't be worrying about Santana, and I'd be thinking more about all the cash I'd be rolling in. How long did you work today?"

"Six hours." Six, agonising hours.

"Then just think of today as six hundred dollars well earned. Fuck Santana and her insults, I'd love to be paid six hundred a day just to make tea and take a few verbal smackdowns."

You raised an eyebrow. You supposed Tina had a point; if Santana wanted to insult you, she could do so as much as she liked, but at the end of the day, you'd be walking home six hundred dollars richer. And, although dropping Santana was pretty horrendous and embarrassing, it happened, and there was nothing you could do to change that.

"I gotta go, Britt, Mike rented _Love, Actually_ for us to watch tonight. Do you wanna join us?"

You glanced down at yourself, all covered up in your duvet with your cat on your chest. "I think I better stay at home tonight. Lord Tubbington's sleeping on me and you know that he doesn't talk to me for two to three days if I interrupt his naps."

"Oh, I do," Tina chucked. "Sleep well, Britt."

Once you hung up, you threw your phone to the end of the bed, before sighing heavily and looking up at your ceiling. You had no idea what you even had to get up for in the mornings; you had two friends that you seldom saw, no significant other, you lived alone, the woman you were nursing basically despised you and you only had a cat for company in the evenings.

You glanced at Lord Tubbington, who purred loudly in his sleep. "At least I got you, Tubbs," you whispered, scratching the back of his ear. There were a lot of thoughts buzzing around in your head but one of them was louder than the rest; you had no idea how you were going to face Santana in the morning.

* * *

 **A/N: My apologies for my month-long absence but until July or so I** **'** **ll be super busy, so I may get to update once a month if I** **'** **m lucky.**

 **Also, thought this is worth mentioning; this story is loosely based on the book** _ **Me Before You**_ **, by Jojo Moyes, although I will be putting my own spin on it. It** **'** **s an incredibly beautiful book and I would 100% recommend you to read it.**

 **I also decided to write Quinn in as one of Santana** **'** **s nurses, because there** **'** **s nothing more fun to read than a good Quinntana friendship.**

 **You should expect the next update to be in January/early February, but don** **'** **t hold me to my word.**

 **See you next time!**

 **-JB**


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